Lodbrok (845 A.D.)
In the midst of the ninth century
In a land where dwelled the Gauls
Sailed a terror down the rivers
From the mighty Northern Halls
A hundred ships commanded
By a warrior none could tame
A true master of war craft
Ragnar Lodbrok was his name
Gallic legions him awaited
Upon the shores of river Seine
But the might of Odin triumphed
Under thunder, wind and rain
Hordes of French warriors
Decimated in their path
Continued the march for Paris
None could withstand their wrath
The king feared the northmen
And devised a cunning plan
So that he could save his people
From a bloody hideous end
A bribe to Ragnar offered
To have mercy on their land
Arrays of gold and silver
So as not to be hanged
The bribe in vain presented
Ragnar blinded by their loot
More raids were thus commissioned
Bloodshed reigned under this brute
And in the years to come
With fervour sacked the land of Gaul
None could hold the onslaught
Under Ragnar Lodbrok's call